


of monsters and men

by orphan_account



Series: (but that's alright) because I like the way it hurts [2]
Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Apologies, Banter, Blow Jobs, Bottom Charles, Charles Has a Past, Coming Untouched, Dom/sub Undertones, Erik Wears Guilt Like a Mantle, Erik is a Masochist, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, No Beach Divorce, Post X-Men: First Class, Round 2 of Sex, Sharing a Bed, The Morning After The Night Before, Top Erik, Topping from the Bottom, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 00:02:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7196948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been two months since Cuba and the almost-beach divorce.  Erik’s taken to hiding himself away in his room during the day and only venturing out at night.  It’s on one such midnight excursion that he bumps in to Charles.  What will Erik do when he comes face-to-face with the man he loves?</p>
            </blockquote>





	of monsters and men

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** : I own nothing.
> 
> **Author's Notes** : Title taken from the music group of the same name. Also, there’s a “Hamilton” reference; see if you can spot it!

Erik approaches the kitchen with caution; he can hear someone moving about in there, and doesn’t want to startle them into sudden violence. Poking his head around the doorframe, Erik feels his heart leap into his throat at the sight of Charles rooting around in the refrigerator. Of course, Erik momentarily forgets that it is next-to-impossible to sneak up on a telepath, and he ends up being the one startled when Charles suddenly turns to face him.

“Hello, Erik,” he says with a pleasant, teasing smile, “Fancy seeing you here.”

“ _Charles_.” To his dying day Erik will deny whimpering Charles’s name. A grown man does not whimper at the first sight in almost two months of the love of his life, who he last saw strapped to a gurney with a bullet in the base of their spine that he, in fact, put there.

Charles is still smiling at him when he asks, “Why have you been hiding?”

Caught off-guard, Erik answers more honestly than he otherwise might. “I didn’t think anyone would want to see me.”

“Then why come back at all?” asks Charles, merely curious and not expecting Erik’s outburst.

“Because I couldn’t stand being apart from _you_!” He quickly claps a hand over his mouth, but the damage is already done.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Isn’t it obvious, Charles?” asks Erik, his eyes impossibly sad, resigned already to his fate. “I love you.”

Charles, to his credit, manages not to look surprised, merely intrigued; Erik can’t tell if such interest is feigned or not. “That’s. . . unexpected,” is all Charles says.

As the silence stretches between them, Erik at last breaks it, nervously shuffling in place. “I owe you a thousand and one apologies, my friend — if I still have the right to call you that.” Charles looks as if he might interrupt, and so Erik ploughs on ahead, determined to get this out while he has the chance.

“If I may, I would start by apologizing for my feelings; such predilections, I know, must be repugnant to you. But most important of all, I would apologize for putting a bullet in the base of your spine. I, alone, am responsible for your injury, and while I know there’s nothing I can do or say that comes close to making up for the pain my actions have caused, nor will I offer excuses in my defense — my actions where you are concerned, if not my feelings, are certainly repugnant to _me_ — I would nonetheless like to offer you the chance of revenging yourself on me.”

Charles watches Erik intently, his lips twitching in barely-concealed amusement at Erik’s formal speech. This is hardly the Middle Ages; they’re not knights of old, sworn to uphold an outdated code of chivalry. What does Erik expect — for Charles to challenge him to a duel to reclaim his honor?

“I hit you. I _hurt_ you, Charles. So hurt me.” Erik scrambles to unbuckle his belt and holds it out to him.

_That_ wipes the smile from Charles’s face, and he recoils, almost violently so, staring from the belt to him and back again. “I-I couldn’t,” he says. “Erik, I love you,” which in turn catches Erik off-guard, though he’s quick to regain his equanimity.

“All the more reason, then,” says Erik matter-of-factly, as if his proposal — that Charles whip him then-and-there in the kitchen, for anyone to walk in and see them — makes perfect sense and it’s Charles’s logic which is faulty.

Charles takes a step closer to Erik, but still refuses the belt. “What will this do for you, Erik?” he asks instead. “Will this help you to move on at all?”

“What does it matter?” Erik shrugs, as if his well-being is unimportant.

Which, Charles reminds himself, he probably thinks is true, having not had a steady, long-lasting relationship since his parents died. No wonder, then, if Erik thinks himself less than others and puts their wants or needs ahead of his own.

“It _matters_ ,” says Charles, “because I care for you; about you. It _matters_ because you said that you love me, and I said it back. I’m not going to do anything to you that isn’t in your best interests.”

“Then will you do this for me? Please?” Erik holds the belt out to him once more, his eyes begging Charles to understand; to not make him say the words aloud and give voice to his guilt.

Charles reluctantly accepts Erik’s offering, but with grace, taking the belt from his hands and folding it in half.

Erik bends over with legs spread as far as his pants and underwear, now pooled around his ankles, will allow. He stretches his upper body out across the kitchen table, gripping the edge until the wood digs painfully into the palm of his hands. He wants, desperately, to be good for Charles, and hopes that he has a tight enough grip — on himself, his emotions, and on the table — to maintain position for the duration of his punishment.

Charles watches Erik’s preparations with a growing sense of dread. He doesn’t want to do this; god, does he ever not want to do this? But he owes it to Erik to give him what he’s asked for — a sound thrashing. As if sensing Charles’s newfound resolve, Erik stills himself and waits for Charles to strike. The first searing crack of leather on flesh takes Erik aback, surprising him with its intensity. He hadn’t known that it was possible to _feel_ so much in a single blow — not just pain, but love and forgiveness, too.

Charles whips him relentlessly, striking both buttocks and the backs of his thighs, while Erik maintains a constant mental litany of _yes_ and _more_ and _harder_ and _thank you_. Outwardly silent, his only noticeable reaction is to jolt forward with every impact of the belt; his cock and balls bump the table with every thrust. Otherwise, to all appearances, he seems unaffected.

This makes Charles inexplicably mad and he begins whipping Erik with renewed vigor, unwilling to let up until he gets a visible reaction out of the metal-bending mutant. Charles’s wrist is aching by the time he realizes that Erik isn’t stopping him; _won’t_ stop him until Charles has given him what he thinks he deserves (and maybe not even then).

It’s this, the sudden dawning realization of the depth of Erik’s self-loathing; the extent to which he still holds himself responsible, not just for Charles’s injury, but for everything that came before — the camps, his parents’ deaths, _Shaw_ — that gives Charles pause and makes him stop, just like that.

There’s a wetness drying on his cheeks that Charles identifies as tears. He realizes, then, how much he hated Erik, if only for a moment, and how much he wanted to make Erik hurt as he had been hurt ( _impossible_ , thinks Charles in the next instant; he was hardly going to shoot a bullet in the base of Erik’s spine to even the score). He feels deeply ashamed for his lapse; for letting the blood-lust take him, if only temporarily.

Charles sets the belt aside and approaches Erik with trepidation. He notes, absently, that his hand is trembling as he places it on Erik’s shoulder. “Erik?” His voice is little more than a whisper, wondering how Erik will respond to his touch; if he’ll lash out in retaliation for Charles whipping him.

Erik raises himself up with some effort. Balancing on one forearm, he turns to look at Charles, who is bent over him in concern, and smiles. “Thank you, my friend,” he says, throat clogged with unshed tears. Hearing this, Charles reaches for him, almost without thought, helping Erik to his feet and pulling him into his arms. Only then does Erik, ever the stoic, let go and sob, raw and broken, against Charles’s shoulder.

Charles holds him through the storm, rocking Erik like a child and whispering reassurances in his ear. He runs a hand through Erik’s hair, hoping to soothe him, and strokes down the length of his back; all the while Erik clings to Charles, his grip shocking in its ferocity. When it’s over and the storm has safely passed, Charles observes how a weight seems to have been lifted from Erik’s shoulders: he’s lighter, somehow, even if his eyes still have that haunted look, which Charles knows to mean that he hasn’t entirely forgiven himself and probably never will.

In the meantime, Erik has managed to burrow into Charles’s chest; quite a feat for a man several inches taller than the vertically-challenged telepath. Charles presses a fond kiss to the top of Erik’s head and brings his hands up to surround and shelter him. “Better, love?” he asks as casually as possible, choosing to ignore, for the moment, Erik’s half-naked and fully-aroused state.

“Yes,” Erik replies simply. He could thank Charles, again, for giving him what he wanted, but he knows that Charles won’t enjoy being reminded that he’s the cause of Erik’s current discomfort. He could crack a joke or make any number of banal comments meant to ease the tension that crackles between them, but that would lessen the emotional impact of what just happened, and he won’t do that to Charles. Best, then, to keep his answer short and to the point.

“Let me get you some ice — to help ease the sting,” says Charles, wanting desperately to do _something_ for Erik that will lessen his pain, either physical or emotional, in some small way.

“No!” Erik protests, his words as cutting as the belt Charles had used to whip him with. “I want to be able to remember how much I am loved, every time that I sit down, for as long as I can.”

“I’ll show you that you’re loved,” responds Charles, coaxing, pleading with Erik to let him help, “As often and in as many ways as you like. Just let me heal you, _please_.”

Powerless in the face of Charles’s puppy-dog eyes, Erik gives a single, brusque nod. Charles hurries to fetch the ice, returning with it wrapped in a towel. He gestures for Erik to bend back over and presses the chilled flannel to his arse; Erik gives an involuntary sigh of pleasure.

“This may not help entirely,” says Charles, making conversation to pass the time and to avoid any awkward silences. “I imagine it’ll hurt to sit for days to come. But, then — that’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Erik agrees, “A reminder of my past crimes, and a promise to do better in future.” Charles lets this comment go unremarked, though he’s not about to forget that Erik wears guilt like a mantle.

The ice is almost completely melted when Charles pulls the damp, soggy towel away; there’s a puddle on the floor that will have dried by morning. It’s time they were both in bed, Charles decides, before any of the children come downstairs and he and Erik are forced to answer any number of embarrassing questions.

“C’mon,” says Charles. “You’re welcome to share my bed for the night, if you like.”

“And the night after that?” asks Erik, teasing. He already knows the answer; can read it in Charles’s eyes without their minds even being linked.

“You are welcome in my bed all the nights of your life, Erik, for as long as we both shall live,” Charles answers him, oddly formal but all the more endearing for it.

Erik reaches for his underwear, easing the material over his bruised buttocks with minimal wincing and pained, animalistic noises, before doing the same with his pants. “Take me to bed, Charles,” he declares when he’s done, reaching for Charles’s hand and promptly lacing their fingers together.

Charles leads Erik upstairs with sure steps, pausing for only the briefest of moments outside his closed bedroom door. It’s not Erik that he doubts; it’s himself. He’s never done this before: a real, honest-to-god relationship; only ever one-night stands. But he feels more for Erik than he ever felt for any of those casual hook-ups, and he trusts in _that_ , his feelings, to guide him, if not himself. Charles’s moment of crisis — or of faith — passes, and he opens the door for Erik, locking it behind them to avoid any interruptions.

If Erik notices Charles’s momentary hesitation, he’s kind enough not to mention it. “So this is the inner sanctum of the great Charles Francis Xavier,” is all he says, looking about him with interest. He finds Charles lounging on the bed, watching him with equal interest.

“Come here, _liebling_ ,” calls Charles enticingly, an order that Erik does little to resist. Kneeling up on the bed, he crawls forward on all fours until he’s by Charles’s side. “Undress me,” Charles commands him, understanding that _he_ must be the one to take control of this encounter if they’re to ever be at peace with one another.

_After this night we will be equals again, my friend, you and I_ , Charles says to Erik through their telepathic connection.

“What makes you think we are not?” asks Erik.

“Need I remind you, Erik?” Charles chides him, almost fondly. “I know you — all too well, I’m afraid — and how your mind works. You’re not done punishing yourself. You want me to fuck you and you want it to hurt; you get off on that. Did you really think I hadn’t noticed that being smacked turns you on?” Ploughing ahead without pause, but taking note of the fact that Erik refuses to meet his eyes, Charles continues, “Yet am I right in thinking that you won’t dare to hurt me? While you may want a rough tumble in the sack, you’ll take your time with me and treat me like I’m something precious; not a mindless hole to be fucked, as you so clearly wish to be treated as.”

“Damn you, Charles,” says Erik, though without any real heat behind the words. In fact, he’s smiling.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Charles dares him, knowing that Erik won’t. “Have you ever taken a man before?” he asks, curious.

Erik shakes his head, a negative. “Have you?” he asks in turn.

Charles’s expression turns pained. “Let’s just say that I’ve had my fair share; multiple partners in multiple positions. Is that a problem?”

Erik answers by leaning down and kissing him; his touch claiming, firm, but gentle, too, and tender. Charles responds automatically, closing his eyes and gliding his tongue along the seam of Erik’s lips, lost in the sheer bliss of their union. “I’ll take care of you, Charles,” Erik whispers to him between frenzied kisses, never wanting to see that _look_ on his face again. “I won’t let you down.” He returns to the task of divesting himself and Charles of their clothes, tossing them in a haphazard heap in the corner of the room.

“You never could,” says Charles, cupping Erik’s cheek in his hand and smiling up at him.

They’re now naked and pressed quite close together, Erik on top of Charles, straddling him. In this position, Charles’s hands naturally gravitate to Erik’s arse; he takes a generous handful of each buttock and _squeezes_ , surprised to feel a sudden surge of arousal course through their telepathic link as a result. He’s reminded, then, of the whipping he so recently gave Erik and the painful weals he is more-than-likely exacerbating by his actions; how digging his nails in must hurt.

“Do that again, Charles,” Erik urges him, confirming Charles’s suspicions as to his masochistic tendencies.

Charles indulges Erik with only minimal reservations, pulling him closer and pinching his bottom. “You like it like that, hmm?” asks Charles with a knowing smirk as Erik’s cock twitches with interest at the sudden sharp burst of pain that makes him throw back his head, eyes screwed shut and mouth open in ecstasy.

“Yes — _Charles_ — just like that,” Erik moans, thrusting down against Charles’s stomach and painting his skin with pre-come, which glistens like pearl teardrops in the moonlight.

“I’ll give you what you want, Erik; never fear.” Charles cups Erik’s face between his hands, pressing their foreheads together even as Erik, arms braced on either side of Charles’s head, continues to thrust against him until both their bodies are aching for release. “I can feel how close you are, _liebling_ ,” Charles whispers against Erik’s lips. “Come for me.”

Erik’s orgasm rips through him, almost painfully so; he emits a high, keening cry that pierces Charles’s heart. He holds Erik through the aftershocks, paying particular attention to the weals liberally covering both Erik’s arse and thighs, some of which are layered on top of each other and must be causing him a considerable amount of pain, even now. These Charles pets and pinches in turn, until he feels Erik’s body go slack against his own as the last of his tension ebbs.

“Your turn,” says Erik without preamble, slithering down the length of Charles’s body until he is able to take Charles’s cock inside his mouth. It’s obvious that he’s never done this before; his inexperience shows. But what he lacks in technique he makes up for with enthusiasm, and it’s not long before Charles is coming down his throat.

Once Charles is spent, he pulls Erik back up to share a messy kiss; he can taste himself on Erik’s tongue, which sends shivers down his spine.

“How was that?” asks Erik, sounding inexplicably nervous.

“Perfection,” Charles answers him with a satisfied smirk, “And for you?”

“Adequate,” Erik replies, affecting a blasé tone.

Charles, however, can feel Erik’s amusement through their telepathic link and knows that he’s only teasing. He laughs and gives Erik’s bum a playful pinch in swift retaliation.

“Ow!” Erik yelps indignantly.

“That’s what you get for sassing me, dear,” says Charles, even as he rubs Erik’s bottom to help ease the sting.

“Lesson learned.” Erik inclines his head in wry acknowledgement, though his tone is still teasing; there’s a hint of laughter behind his next words. “Or would you rather put me over your knee for a spanking, _Professor_?”

“Don’t tempt me, Erik. Although I rather think I’ve hurt you enough for one evening.” Charles pauses, considering. “Here’s my condition: if you insist on my causing you pain to get you off, then _I_ insist that you completely heal before I do anything harmful to you again. Agreed?”

“Fair enough, Charles. I accept your terms.” The two seal their bargain with a kiss that starts out chaste but turns heated soon enough, with Erik crawling back on top of Charles and slotting their half-erect cocks together.

Charles honest-to-god _whimpers_ at the increased stimulation. “Fuck me, Erik. Please,” he begs. Erik kisses him once more before helping Charles onto his stomach.

Determined to do right by Charles and prove his faith justified, Erik vows to make love to Charles as he’s never been made love to before. He starts at the base of Charles’s skull, kissing down the back of his neck and along the bony knobs of his spine, until he reaches the small of Charles’s back — just above the crack of his arse. Erik, for all his inexperience, knows that there are those who like having their partner’s tongue in their arse-hole. But he, personally, finds the idea of this distasteful, and as he doesn’t know Charles’s opinion on the matter, he decides it’s best to leave Charles’s arse-hole be.

Instead, he presses his lips to each of Charles’s buttocks, nibbling and scraping his teeth on the sensitive skin, and taking a perverse satisfaction in the shiver that his actions elicit. Good to know, then, that Charles enjoys having his arse played with as much as Erik does (though each in vastly different ways).

Erik returns to kissing down the back of Charles’s legs, giving each his undivided attention, and ends by kissing the soles of Charles’s feet — an act of supplication that he knows won’t go unnoticed, if not unremarked. But Charles, thankfully, shows restraint — despite the frustration Erik can feel through their link — and remains silent, allowing Erik to carry on with his ministrations. He kisses Charles’s left buttock in gratitude, and reaches for the lube and condom on the nightstand.

Coating his fingers in lube, Erik inserts one into Charles’s arse-hole, taking care to only give Charles what he can reasonably take in. Once Charles is comfortable with one, Erik inserts a second finger, scissoring them to ease the burning stretch that Charles will feel when it’s Erik’s cock rather than his fingers inside him. Erik takes his time with the third finger, and is debating on whether or not to add a fourth when he feels a sudden, sharp jab — the mental equivalent of an electric jolt — that indicates Charles’s impatience.

Laughing to himself, Erik withdraws his fingers and unwraps the condom, sliding it on. He shuffles forward to help Charles onto his hands and knees, all the while petting and stroking whatever bare skin he can reach.

“It’ll be all right,” he whispers, though whether to reassure himself or Charles, he couldn’t say.

Charles’s arse-hole is still slick with lube, but Erik isn’t taking any chances on Charles being hurt; not if he can help it. He liberally coats his cock with lube and places the tip at Charles’s entrance. Breathing shallowly — _in, out_ , he reminds himself, _in, out_ — Erik slowly pushes forward by increments until he’s fully sheathed, his front plastered against Charles’s back.

_Let go, Erik_ , Charles urges him, once he’s accustomed to the stretch of being filled. _Move._

Erik does as Charles demands, first easing back, then slamming in again; pumping in-and-out of Charles’s lube-slicked hole with abandon. But it’s not enough. Though their minds are linked, he needs to _see_ Charles for himself; needs to see the expressions on his face to know that he’s doing this right. So Erik pulls out completely and deftly flips Charles onto his back before ramming his cock back in to the hilt. Charles’s eyes go wide with arousal and he offers his wrists up to Erik’s bruising grip, wanting to be marked; desperate to be possessed; to be taken out of his own head, away from all the voices.

But Charles and Erik are still new to this; still learning each other’s bodies. And as much as they might want to prolong the experience, this second round lasts no longer than the first did. A few erratic thrusts and Erik is spilling into Charles, who follows him over the brink, coming untouched. They cling to each other through the aftershocks, Erik eventually finding the wherewithal to gently ease out of Charles and collapse next to him on the bed.

“Good,” Charles pants, breathless. “You did good, Erik.”

Erik tugs and Charles curls unresisting into the curve of his body, one hand resting proprietorially over Erik’s heart. “There’s no need to stoke my ego, Charles,” he says haughtily. “I’m not nearly as fragile as you suppose me to be.”

“I don’t think that at all,” says Charles, protesting Erik’s tone. “It’s just you were so worried, before — about doing right by me — and I wanted you to know how much I enjoyed your making love to me. That’s all.”

“I wasn’t. . . too rough?” Erik’s hesitancy is back.

“You were perfect, Erik,” Charles assures him. “To tell the truth I liked you being rough with me; you’d be surprised how much! And it makes me feel better about being rough with _you_ earlier.”

“But that was justified. This. . . I lost control.”

“You don’t always need to be in such strict control of yourself, Erik. Not in bed,” Charles informs him.

“I’m glad that it was. . . pleasurable for you,” says Erik, stumbling over his words. Pillow talk is new territory for him, as what partners he’s had before have never lingered in bed after the fact.

“And was it for you?” asks Charles.

“Yes, Charles,” says Erik, his features visibly softening. “I enjoyed myself very much.”

“Good, good.” Charles sighs contentedly. “Your pleasure is just as important as mine. Remember that.”

“I’ll try, Charles.” Which is all Erik can promise at this time, and Charles knows it.

“Good night, Erik,” says Charles, pressing a kiss to Erik’s bony shoulder-blade. He’ll have to work on fattening him up in the morning; two months spent eating little more than scraps does not a healthy man make. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Charles.” Erik, in turn, presses a kiss to Charles’s sweaty forehead, making a mental note to persuade Charles to share a shower with him in the morning; it won’t do to face Raven and the kids for the first time in two months reeking of sex. “Good night.”

* * *

The next morning, Raven is surprised to hear voices already coming from the kitchen when she and the other kids head downstairs for breakfast.

It’s been two months since Cuba and the almost-beach divorce, as they’ve taken to calling it among themselves. In that time, Charles has rarely ventured outside, instead staring gloomily out of windows and moping; constant, endless moping. And pining; Raven’s not about to let _that_ be forgotten. Her brother’s present happiness can mean only one thing.

Raven strides confidently through the kitchen door, the others trailing in her wake, to find Charles and Erik shifting uncomfortably in their seats at the table, which is piled high with food that Charles is clearly plying an emaciated-looking Erik with. And small wonder. No one has seen Erik by the light of day in over two months; not since he got Charles shot and then promptly transported him to the nearest hospital, thereby saving his life.

With a small shudder, Raven recalls with crystal clarity the long hours spent in the hospital’s reception room, impatiently waiting for word on Charles’s condition. And, once they were all finally allowed in to see him, how small and pale he’d looked in that hospital bed, the anesthesia not yet fully out of his system.

Charles had shared with her, once, his last memory before being put under. It’s of Erik, unsurprisingly. Having deposited Charles on a nearby gurney, and unwilling to leave his side, the nurse had asked Erik who he was. Turning to Charles, he had answered, “Me? I’m the damn fool that shot him.”

That had been the last Charles saw of Erik, though his presence had continued to be felt throughout both the hospital and the Westchester mansion. When Raven and everyone else who had been on that beach in Cuba entered Charles’s private room, the first thing that drew their gaze — after Charles, lying inert on his bed in one of those backless hospital gowns — was the shiny helmet that Erik had taken from Shaw.

Charles later told them, once he was conscious and more cognizant of his surroundings, that due to the helmet on his bedside — meant to let him know that Erik was on his side — and the agitation he could feel due to his mutation, that Erik was still there, and would any of them much mind if Erik came back to the mansion to live with them? Raven had been too exhausted to care, at the time, as had everyone else. They were all just glad that Charles was alive and well, and that he would walk again.

Now, watching her brother laugh and talk with Erik, Raven finds herself thankful for, and even blessing, the metal-bending mutant’s presence. For without Erik, Raven doubts that Charles would have found the will to keep getting out of bed in the morning. Although, she thinks, eyeing them both critically, Charles seems to have had plenty of help in getting something else up instead.

“Take it in turns last night, did you?” she says with a knowing smirk.

Her voice startles Charles and Erik, who both jump out of their seats in fright, wincing in tandem when their bruised bottoms make sudden contact with the rough wooden chairs.

“Raven!” Charles, his face burning red, holds himself still until the pain passes. “There’s no need for vulgarity so early in the morning.” His reproof lacks any real heat, though, as evidence by the fond smile he shares with Erik, who can feel his contentment through their telepathic link.

Erik, for his part, is a bundle of nerves. This is the first he’s seen of Raven or any of the kids since that horrible day on the beach. He doesn’t know how to respond to them or how they’re going to react — to him, to his presence, his relationship with Charles — but his fears prove surprisingly groundless when Raven steps forward and, without hesitating, folds him into her arms.

The others all follow Raven’s lead and embrace him to varying degrees, some (Alex) simply patting him on the back on the way to the cereal cupboard. Erik breathes a soundless sigh of relief and looks to Charles, whose reassuring grip on his thigh slides up by increments, until he’s practically groping Erik at the breakfast table.

“Hands to yourself, boys,” says Raven, without even looking, “At least in front of the children.”

There’s a collective laugh that eases the almost-imperceptible tension, breaking the ice and slotting something back into place that had been missing before. And it’s this: Erik is home.


End file.
